A Hint of Reality
by Bladestar123
Summary: Someone decides to fix Harry's misconceptions regarding magic. Forcefully. WARNING - infodump mocking 'facts' developed in fanon. Enjoy the irony.
1. An Introduction

**This is nothing more than an infodump snippet designed to poke fun at what is considered 'canon' these days on this site. I am sure that other people have done something similar, but I just felt like getting this out there. This is a one-shot, but if I get feedback (and/or ideas) I may continue. Heh – I don't actually expect anyone to finish reading this to the end.**

**Now, the premise of this is 'What if Hagrid left the wand shop for a while, got late, and Harry had time to show off some of his spectacular ignorance before dear Mr. Ollivander?" WARNING – Some liberties taken with canon. Roll with it.**

Harry Potter was still stunned by the aftermath of receiving his wand. Perhaps, because no one had bothered to snap him out of it; Hagrid was AWOL at the moment (a phrase Dudley had used _very_ often for a time during his war-game phase), and Ollivander had proceeded to completely ignore Harry following the mysterious bit of nonsense that he had deigned to grant Harry. Nonsense being subjective of course; it really _was _an interesting fact, but Harry, in all his childish stubbornness, discovered that all that the new information did for him at the moment was raise his blood pressure.

_No pressure Potter-just because you have similar wands doesn't mean you're similar people, right? Right?_

"I wish I had a better wand," Harry mumbled wistfully under his breath – only to jump in shock as Ollivander suddenly appeared before him as if by magic.

"_What."_ He hissed, looking straight into Harry's eyes. He gulped nervously.

"I-I said I wished I had a better wand!" He shouted – nerves making him raise his voice in shock.

"Nonsense," He snorted, "That is _your_ wand. There can be no better for you beyond in myths and legends."

Harry scrunched his brows. "But-but you pulled it off a shelf! Uncle Vernon says that the 'generic stuff is for trash and beggars'! Can't I have one customized for myself?" _Especially since, you know, I wouldn't share __more__similarities with my parent's murderer._

"_Customized…?!"_ He looked askance at the boy, "What nonsense is that?! Claptrap I say – ruddy nonsense_! Why_ _I-!"_

Ollivander appeared to be working himself up to a truly massive fit of pique – his eyes were ballooning, and his papery skin had flushed itself red, and appeared to be working its way down the rainbow.

"_-utter worthless *&%^ trash born from a &%*&%^*& in a &*%^*&^! Ruddy purebloods always-"_

"Ah!" Harry said in surprise, "That's what he called himself-he said he was a pureblood!"

Ollivander narrowed his already dangerously thin eyes. "Yeesss,… no surprises there. Well Mr. Potter allow me to correct your…_error…_There is no such thing as a…_customized…_wand. They do. Not. Exist."

"But why?" Harry burst out, "That would be so much better!"

Ollivander ground his teeth, as it appeared that Harry had hit a sore spot. "Because your wand is _already customized_. The wand always, _always_ chooses the wizard – there can _be no better wand for you than the one you hold now._"

"But, but-!"

"But nothing! I assure you, that all that _worthless talk about __customizing__ is naught but pureblood drivel._ All it does is intimidate new children to the Wizarding World (Such as yourself dear boy, may your parents rest in peace) into buying Pureblood superiority."

Ollivander's chest at this point was inflating like a bellows, and his forehead was beading with sweat. It appeared that Mr. Ollivander was not quite used to speaking much at all. Wands, obviously, were a point of great passion for the man, and any misapprehensions regarding them set the man off like a firework.

"Oh…" Harry visibly wilted at Ollivander's passion. "But…but what about my magical core? Malfoy mentioned that only purebloods got customi-_personal_ wands because it made their cores stronger – that custo-_personalization _was why purebloods were better at magic, and-." Harry cut himself off, not because he had forgotten what to say, but because Ollivander was broadcasting enough malicious intent to drown a fish.

"Magical. Cores." He said flatly, staring at Harry through shining silver eyes that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "_Magical. Cores._"

Harry began edging away from the obviously unstable man. He wasn't fast enough. With surprising agility for someone of his seeming age, he grasped the boys shoulder, and pulled him until they were face to face. "_Allow me to clarify-There is No Such Thing as a Magical Core."_

Harry's pale and sweating face made his apprehension obvious-but he had to sate his curiosity. The man clearly enjoyed talking about magic-maybe it would get his mind off things.

He took a gamble. "Then, then where _does_ magic come from?"

It paid off. Ollivander turned, took a step back, and promptly _pulled a bloody chair from nowhere_ and sat down on it.

Harry's eyes were wide. Magic, was truly something special.

"Mr. Potter, you see, magic comes from all around us. It is the air we breathe, the food we eat, the water we drink. It comes from without, not within. When someone casts a spell, they draw the magic from around them into their wands, and release it in a predetermined 'shape', so to speak. This is a spell."

Harry's head was already feeling light, but he was slowly following the conversation.

"So, how do you make a spell stronger then?"

Ollivander crinkled his one-again serene face. "You don't. There is no such thing as _more power._ Magic does not work like that. There are only two points where a wizard has any kind of say in how the spell forms. First, is when the magic is being gathered. The more talented the wizard, the faster the magic gathers. Adding 'more power' simply overloads the spell collection, and it fizzles out. The second point is when the spell is being shaped. This happens mostly unconsciously. Rather than actually shaping it ourselves, we associate the 'shape' with a word, or image. The better we are at this, the faster the spell forms, and the less likely it is to fail.

There is no making a spell 'more effective' or stronger. All spells are equal in power and effectiveness. That is why wizards don't simply settle duels by repeatedly firing the same spell at each other – they would simply cancel each other out."

Harry could barely follow – Ollivander had gradually expanded his vocabulary to the point that Harry could barely even comprehend what the man was saying. However, he needed to keep the man going until Hagrid arrived, and he could escape. "But – in the movies- shouting makes the spell more effective doesn't it?"

Ollivander snorted, a rough noise that Harry could barely associate with the mysterious man. "No. All it does is make the caster more confident, and thus reinforce their casting. That is why most people believe that shouting a spell like a lunatic makes the spell more effective. Utter nonsense. It doesn't matter how strong a man holding a pistol is – the bullets are still no more powerful than anyone else's."

Harry's ears perked up at a word he recognized. "I'm actually more surprised that you know what a pistol _is _sir."

"Irrelevant. Anyway, the point is that all this magical core rubbish is pure malarkey. If it was true, every time someone cast too much magic, they would be running a fever and not be so much on the verge of death, as walking in and setting their hats on the coat hook. No, we cast magic with _will_, that is why our minds are only fatigued, and it is our _wands_ that feel the pressure.

I could go on and on about how this relates to development, and the existence of squibs and muggleborn, but enough of that. Your guardian appears to have arrived. Now go on Mr. Potter- _and do be careful!"_

Harry had never been happier to see Hagrid in his life, late as he was. He made himself a silent promise not to antagonize wise old men while deep in their lairs. Anyway, the old man was rig-Ooohhh, was that _chocolate?!_

**And there goes the infodump song! What so many people forget is that Harry was 11. When I was 11, I remember my classmates chewing paint chips and used bubblegum. Anyway, this is an infodump targeted at some of the truly atrocious things Fanon has come up with. Anyway, enjoy (or don't – up to you really).**


	2. Revelations

**Dumbledore. Ahhhh, Dumbledore, how fanon hates thee. I don't like it. Dumbledore was pretty cool for an old geezer. But hoo boy, fanon **_**loves**_** bashing this guy. Well, screw that. WARNING- infodump. Apologies to anyone serious about religion beforehand-not bashing, but if it offends you…well sorry. Didn't mean to.**

**Premise: Harry and Dumbledore have one last chat before everything goes to hell. Occurs any time during the 6****th**** book. **

Harry walked quietly into the solemn office with all the gravity he could muster in his teenage soul. The man before him smiled quietly over the rims of his half-moon glasses, silently welcoming him.

"You wished to speak with me sir?" Harry asked quietly.

Dumbledore smiled serenely, "Indeed my dear boy, I wished to speak to you." He peered over his glasses a little closer. "Professor McGonagall tells me you have been falling behind in your classes Harry."

Harry stiffened. "I wasn't aware that my studies warranted speaking with the headmaster. Sir." He added hastily.

"Ahh, but you are wrong Harry. Education should be no more than our highest concern." Harry opened his mouth, but Dumbledore forged on, "And yet, that is _not_ what we have to speak of, yes?"

Harry was a little slower to open his mouth this time. "Y-yes. Sir. I, I was wondering…" He slowed down, a pensive expression crossing his face.

"About Tom?" Dumbledore asked quietly. Harry winced, and scratched the back of his head.

"Not really sir…it was, more about Magic."

Dumbledore's eyes slowly twinkled over his frames at this. "Magic in general dear boy? Why, we would be here for weeks if you wished me to tell you all that I know. I have been informed that I am quite the authority on the subject."

Here, Harry laughed nervously. "Not quite sir." Harry swallowed slowly, "I never told you sir, but when I was first buying my wand, Mr. Ollivander…he…he spoke to me about…about Magic, sir."

"Did he now?" Dumbledore asked slowly, his eyes focusing a little more on Harry. "And, what, did Mr. Ollivander tell you Harry?"

"He-He told me that there was no difference between people in magical strength, only in ability. I've always been curious since then, tried to learn more. But sir, I've been curious. What…what _is_ magic? What is it? Why does it do what it does?"

As Harry watched, Dumbledore sank into a contemplative silence, the silence stretching and the wrinkles around the old man's eyes seemingly deeper than ever. Then, slowly, Dumbledore looked up, and smiled, a gentle, kind smile, and let out the briefest of chuckles. "Harry."

Harry sat up a little straighter. "Yes sir?"

"Do you know, why we do not teach about magic in Hogwarts?"

Harry furrowed his brows. "I don't follow sir. This is a _school_ of magic sir. We learn all but nothing else."

"Dear boy, do you believe that you were the first to ask this question? That no one else has ever asked this question? We teach transfiguration, charms, and potions. We teach flying, divination and astronomy. We even teach muggle studies, and yet, nowhere will you find a class about 'basic magic, and how to use it'." Dumbledore allowed his piercing gaze to land on Harry, while still smiling that same, gentle smile. "And yet, have you ever wondered why that is? Why no one has ever tried to study it, pinpoint it?"

Harry swallowed, and admitted that yes, he had given it some thought. "I assumed the Department of Mysteries had…"

"Yes, well, Harry, did you know that not even the Department of Mysteries has ever studied it? Never tried to truly define it? They study emotions, secrets, the future, the mind, and yes, even death. And yet…not magic. Never magic."

"No, sir. I didn't."

Dumbledore's gaze softened, and said "Yes-and that is for a very simple reason."

Harry sat up eagerly. "But, before I tell you-I wish for you to answer a simple question." He deflated again. "Yes, sir."

He smiled kindly. "Harry, when you first saw magic-when Hagrid, as he tells me, burst through that door and into your life. How did you see magic? How did you feel?"

He thought back. "Well, sir. It, it seemed otherworldly. _Miraculous."_

Dumbledore smiled widely, wider than he had ever seen him smile before. "Exactly Harry. Exactly. _Miraculous_ is a fantastic word for it. _That_ is why we have never studied it."

"I don't follow sir."

He chuckled, a rumbling jolly sound, seemingly far too deep for someone of Dumbledore's slight frame. "We wizards, above all, venerate _magic_. We are born from it, and for those of us born to wizarding families, it _defines_ us. We love it Harry, because we are blessed by it. You see Harry, that is why very, very few wizards believe in religion. We have no need of it, not when we already have the only God we will every need. Magic, Harry, is our Miracle.

You see Harry, when muggles use science, they create laws. They make a box of rules based around their understanding of the universe, and they sit in it. But, you see, that box is their miracle. Their laws is how they define their world, be they religious laws, or scientific ones.

But magic, _magic_ is different. We do not; will not create _laws _for it, because we refuse to _define _it. We refuse to say what it can, or cannot do, because it is our Miracle, and to us, there is _nothing_ it cannot do. So, we do not tell you its laws. Because as long as you _believe_ there are no laws, then you can _act_ like there are no laws."

Harry frowned. "I...I think I get it? Kind of?"

Dumbledore smiled again, seemingly at peace with the discussion. "Allow me to provide an example Harry. If, after 1000 years of research into medical magic, our ancestors had decided that magical healing was impossible, and made rules that stated such, then we would have never developed Healers. Because, _we would have continued to believe that it was impossible_. But, instead we told ourselves that _it was possible, and that it was __us__ that were limited_. Thus, finally, we succeeded in magical healing. Because we believed that it was possible, and refused to make any rules to constrain ourselves."

Harry frowned deeper. "But, sir! That's…that's insane! It's totally counterproductive sir! It goes against common sense!"

And Dumbledore laughed, a rich deep sound, and looked fondly upon Harry like he would upon a favorite grandson, and just for a moment Harry wondered if this was what it was like to have family.

"Ahhh, common sense! A favorite topic among muggleborn regarding us wizards. So much of what we do defies logic!

And yet Harry, you must remember. We venerate magic, and we believe in its ability more than anything else. It is everything to us. And really dear boy…

What common sense _is_ there in doing magic?"

**That took an…unexpectedly serious turn. Meh. What the muse wants, she gets. Ah, well.** **I enjoyed writing it.**


End file.
